


i'm doing good, i'm doing fine

by yukjaem



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, might squeeze in some changlix idk, um kinda like a delinquent au that i've always wanted to write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-03-05 12:33:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13387887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yukjaem/pseuds/yukjaem
Summary: Lee Minho, president of the student council, meets Han Jisung, known delinquent.





	1. i

**Author's Note:**

> Hi !! I've fallen head over heels for stray kids recently so this ended up happening (again). also, this is my first attempt at writing something not centered on fluff so bear with me, please.
> 
>  
> 
> \--title taken from [placebo](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XTc8aKIRXB8) by 3racha

“No smoking on school property.”

Minho doesn’t know who the boy is, his name or his backstory; it’s just that he’s breaking school rules.

He has a cigarette perched on his lips, a wisp of smoke curling into the air above him, his eyes closed and his uniform jacket slung over his shoulders. When he hears the sound of Minho’s voice, his eyes snap open and stare him down.

If looks could kill, Minho wouldn’t be standing right now.

“No smoking on school property,” Minho repeats, for the sake of reestablishing his command.

The boy takes a long drag of his cigarette, then rests it between two of his fingers. He blinks at Minho, lazily eyeing him up and down, before taking a step back and another, until he's out of the school boundaries. There's a small park behind the school where all the kids go to smoke. The smoke pit, they call it. Except it’s empty on a Monday morning like this.

The boy stands alone, surrounded by cigarette butts scattered across the dirt ground. A trash can--a sad attempt made by the school to reduce littering--stands at the side, unused.

“You know smoking is bad for your health, right?” Minho says, because he needs to fill in the silence, or maybe because the boy appears lonely and vulnerable, hiding his shivers against the cool wind.

The other merely shrugs and says, “Who cares?”

That isn’t exactly the response Minho was looking for; it’s too concise and jaded for someone his age.

He checks his watch. “Classes are going to start soon. We should get going.”

The silence stretches in between them as Minho fidgets in his spot, waiting for the other to respond.

The boy finally finishes his cigarette and flicks the remainders into the trash can. He ignores his previous remark. “Who are you?”

“I’m Lee Minho, president of the student council.”

“That’s not what I meant, Lee Minho.” There’s obvious disrespect in his tone, if the lack of proper honorifics isn’t enough of a sign. “I meant, who are _you_ to tell _me_ what to do.”

Minho’s eyes fall on the boy’s wary stance. There are bruises flowered over his knuckles, cuts and scrapes sprinkled on his cheekbones, jawline and lower lip. He looks like he had just gotten into a fight and is ready to start brawling again. Someone else might have been scared, but only waves of sympathy overcome Minho.

“I’m only concerned,” he speaks carefully. “If you need help or someone to talk to, then I--”

“Shut up.”

“Listen, I know the last thing you want is the school president telling you--”

“I said, shut up.”

He marches up to him, and Minho’s nearly expecting him to pull back his fist and sock him in the jaw. Instead, he stops, a hairbreadth away, and exhales. Smoke lingers in the air, seeping through his school uniform, sticking to his skin.

“Do you know who I am?” the boy says quietly.

“You never cared to introduce yourself. I imagine you’re a year younger than me, though.”

And the boy takes a step back, laughing. “Figures. If you knew who I was, you wouldn’t act so fucking concerned. Here’s my warning: leave me alone and you won’t get hurt.”

When he shoves past Minho’s shoulder, the bell rings. “Better hurry up. You don’t want to be late for class, mister _school president._ ” He saunters off, his cross earring glinting even from a distance, and Minho comes to a sudden realization.

Sure, he still doesn’t know who he is, his name or his backstory, but he’s willing to find out. Underneath that tough exterior is a broken boy, worn and frayed at the edges, crying out for help, and Minho would be damned if he leaves him to suffer alone.

 

 

His name is Han Jisung. He’s a year younger than him.

It's easy to find information about him once Minho tries. According to the rumours (which has questionable sources), Jisung gets into fights so many times, that the bruises on his knuckles have become a permanent fixture in his life. He’s recently transferred to this school, because his old school had expelled him when he sent two of their students to the hospital, one with a broken rib, the other with a minor concussion.

Sometimes, the girls would say his name in awe. "He's a bad boy," they whisper among themselves, describing Jisung's aloof behaviour and the cuts on his cheekbones. Often times, however, his name is said in fear. “That motherfucker’s crazy.”

“Han Jisung,” Minho tests the name; it rolls off the tongue easily, a bit sharp on the edges. He’s oddly attached to the sound of it.

At least Jisung seems to have a couple of friends backing him up, Chan and Changbin, two seniors. Minho’s heard of them. He’s not sure if they’re a good influence. It’s his duty as the school president to prevent fighting, to maintain order and to ensure everyone feels safe in their skin. People like Chan and Changbin are the exact opposite; they live off of causing havoc and danger.

To say the least, they're bad news.

It’s all rumours, of course. Minho’s not stupid to believe everything he hears, but he also knows that there's a shred of truth in every piece of gossip. So he takes it with a grain of salt.

 

 

Jisung isn’t in any of his classes (he’s a year younger, so that’s not surprising). His whereabouts during lunch time are unknown. He isn’t in any of the school clubs. Minho wants to help him, truly, he does, but he finds himself spread too thin. He barely has enough time to fulfil his duties as the school president and to complete his other extracurricular activities. His workload grows day after day and despite his reluctance, his motivation to find Jisung slips away.

 

 

It's on a Monday, a few weeks after their first encounter, when Minho sees him again.

He's out on the umpteenth errand to deliver papers to another class, sent by his obnoxious chemistry teacher who's too lazy to do anything herself. He wishes he could drop out, like half of the class has already done, but his dad would kill him.

"You should stop, Jisung. You're getting into fights too often, getting hurt too often. Heck, there hasn't been a single day where I’ve seen you clean and unbloodied!"

Minho skids to a stop. Whoever's talking, probably Jisung and his friends, are just around the corner of the hall, so they can't see him yet. He presses his back against the wall and listens.

"I'm fine, Chan hyung."

"No, you're not. Changbin and I agreed to take you in because we believe that deep down, you're a good guy. And you are, you really are, but you've been fighting too much, you know that, right?”

There's a scoff. "You guys fight too."

"You know we don't mean to. We just happen to be at the wrong place, at the wrong time, helping the right people. We don't start fights unless we have to. It's not part of the 3racha code."

Minho's heard of 3racha before, vaguely. They're like a self-righteous group, inflicting violence and claiming it as justice. It's a well-known fact that the leader of the group is Chan, but without the proper evidence, the school can't do anything.

“Who said I started any of the fights?”

"Jisung... How many fights did you get into last week?"

There's a pause, a shuffle, and Minho's almost convinced they've found out about his presence. Then Jisung mumbles, "I don't know."

"Excuse me?" The voice is different this time, lower and raspier. Minho assumes it's Changbin speaking.

"I said, I don't know."

"Did you get into so many fights that you can't even remember how many? Tell us, if you didn't start any of the fights, how the fuck did you get into so many of them?"

Another short pause.

"Jisung," Chan starts again, softly.

"You don't know anything." Jisung's voice decreases in volume at the end of his sentence. He sounds done with them.

"How can we, when you don't tell us anything?" Minho winces at the sudden outburst. Changbin's loud voice echoes down the empty hall. He considers stepping in, but Chan quietly reprimands Changbin, so he holds himself back.

"You say we don't know anything about you," Changbin continues in a low tone, coloured with impatience, "but fuck, we're willing to learn more about you, if you just tell us. We're here for you, goddammit, so why won't you trust us, even a little?"

"Why would you want to know?"

"Why would we want to know? Chan, can you hear this punk?" Changbin lets out a dry laugh.

"We want to know because we care. We're worried about you, that's all," Chan says slowly, in control of his pace. There's a hint of urgency hidden in his tone, though.

Minho waits with bated breath for Jisung's response. His gut churns at the thought of eavesdropping someone else's private conversation, but there isn't anything he can do now without revealing his presence.

"First that nosy bastard, now even the so-called justice delinquents of high school,” Jisung says dryly. “Stop acting like you care and mind your own business."

"Han Jisung--"

Minho blinks, and Jisung's punching the blue lockers in front of him, leaving behind a small dent. He mutters profanities underneath his breath, and when he finally notices Minho, for a moment, his guard drops. A brief look of surprise passes over his features before he bares his teeth and growls, "Nosy bastard."

"Name's Lee Minho, in case you've forgotten. Nice seeing you too, Jisung."

Jisung narrows his eyes at him, then at the pile of papers in his hands. Minho tries his best to smile. “I’m out on an errand for my chemistry teacher,” he explains, because Jisung looks closer to murdering him by the second. “Shouldn’t you be in class, though?” he adds on before he can stop himself.

"Whatever." Jisung rolls his eyes and pushes past him. When he does, Minho nearly loses hold of the papers in his hands. He makes a small sound of distress, but Jisung doesn't bother turning around to help. "This is my last warning, school president. Act nosy again, and it won't be the locker I punch next time. You wouldn't want to get that handsome face of yours all bloody.”

Did he just call Minho handsome? Albeit the compliment was hidden under a threat.

By the time Minho manages to regain his footing, Jisung's already gone. He turns the hallway corner to check if Chan and Changbin are still there. They are. Changbin has his eyebrows furrowed in worry, while Chan gnaws at his bottom lip. They see him, see his neatly tucked uniform shirt, his well-kept hair, and they immediately label him as not one of them.

They're not wrong, though.

Minho passes by them as they share a look and simultaneously seem to agree to go after Jisung. He doesn't care to tell them to not run in the hallways, and their footsteps fade away in the distance. He hopes they find him. He hopes Jisung listens to them and gets into fewer fights, or maybe stops entirely.

He wishes he could help Jisung himself.

 

 

“Minho oppa, do you want to join us for lunch?” a couple of girls from the student council ask him. Minho hums noncommittally, so they share a knowing look and leave without him.

It’s a Friday. Unlike before, instead of searching for Jisung, Minho tries to forget about him. He seems to be in good hands with Chan and Changbin. They care about him, he can tell. Even with their questionable methods of solving problems, they're good people.

Minho tries to forget about Jisung. He fails, miserably.

"Minho, you never come out for lunch anymore. All you do is stare at this notebook." Woojin slams his hands on either side of his desk. He plucks the notebook out of his hands. "You sigh, then you write, then you sigh again. What are you? Lovesick?"

Woojin starts flipping through the pages, his eyebrows rising upwards and disappearing behind his blond bangs. "You're still looking into this Jisung kid?"

Minho snatches the notebook back. "Maybe."

"Do you like him or something?"

"What? No!"

Woojin gives him a pitiful look. "Then, why, you idiot? He's not the only delinquent in this school, you know. Just the only one stupid enough to get into fights 24/7."

Minho remains quiet, pondering, as he shoves his notebook into his backpack. Every word written in there is him trying to find a way to help Jisung, no matter how insignificant the impact.

He doesn't know how he's going to help Jisung, or if Jisung would allow him to help when he doesn't even listen to his two friends. While Chan and Changbin appear to genuinely care for Jisung, not much has changed since Minho's overheard their argument. There are still whispers of the fresh bruises and cuts painted on Jisung's skin. And no one else seems to give a damn.

"I don't know, I just want to help him if I can," Minho says, finally.

"You're the school president, not the school counsellor. If you're that concerned, maybe you should report to the authorities," Woojin continues as Minho pulls out another one of his binders.

"You know they don't care." Minho shakes his head. He changes the topic and smiles up at Woojin, hoping to convince him to leave. "Okay, I'll stop for now. Now, shoo, I still need to prepare for my speech at the pep rally."

"That's like months away!" Woojin scrunches his nose in disgust. "I know I said you're school president, but you're also Lee Minho before being school president. Live a little. At least join Seungmin and me for lunch. We're going to Starbucks."

"I can't--"

"Sure, you can." Woojin pulls his arm. "Stop being such an antisocial butt."

Minho exhales tiredly. Maybe, just maybe, it's not a bad idea to take a short break. He pinches his nose and sighs again. If he doesn't prepare for his speech now, he won't ever have time unless he sacrifices the time he spends brainstorming ideas on how to help Jisung.

"Minho, hurry your ass up."

Then again, there are still months before the pep rally. Surely, he can find time before that.

"I'm coming," he says, and Woojin claps his back roughly in celebration. He packs the rest of his belongings--making sure his notebook, dedicated to Jisung, is safely tucked away--and stands up, slinging his backpack over his shoulder.

"Minho hyung! Minho hyung! Minho hyung!" A deep voice echoes in the hallways, drawing near. Felix suddenly bursts into the classroom, Hyunjin in tow. He slams his hands on either side of Minho's desk, and Minho winces. Not again.

"What?"

"You told us to keep you updated on Han Jisung, right?" says Hyunjin as Felix catches his breath. This bit of information immediately catches Minho's interest. He sits back down.

“What is it?” he asks eagerly. Woojin gives him a flat look. “They’re the same age as him,” Minho tells him, as if that'd explain everything.

Woojin doesn’t look impressed. He crosses his arms and gives him another one of his looks. The, “I’m judging you so hard right now,” look. Minho doesn't appreciate being judged. He doesn't hesitate to voice his opinion on the matter.

"Anyway!" interrupts Felix. "Hyung, you gotta hurry. We heard from Donghyuck, who heard from Jeno, who heard from Jaemin, who heard from--"

"Just get on with it," Minho cuts him off.

"Han Jisung and five seniors are gonna fight at the back of the park," Felix says. Hyunjin nudges his arm and adds, "Probably. We're not a hundred percent sure."

"Why didn't you guys tell a teacher or something?" Woojin explodes.

"Hell no. We ain't snitches, hyung," Felix says, aghast.

Hyunjin nods solemnly. "Plus, Minho hyung told us to go to him first unless it's a really bad emergency."

Woojin wrinkles his forehead in disappointment. “Lee Minho, this is the epitome of bad…” Felix pokes his shoulder and motions at Minho's desk. The seat is empty. Felix and Hyunjin cackle at his look of betrayal, and Woojin sighs. His friend is lame--lame and obviously lovesick.

 

 

 

Minho doesn’t wait to tell Woojin he can’t make it to Starbucks. He’s out of the classroom before any of them can react, dropping his school bag on the ground and tearing off his uniform jacket on the way. He draws a couple of stares from the student body, gaping at their school president running down the hallways, collared shirt rumpled, and pushing past people as if his life depends on it.

Fuck. What was Jisung thinking, taking on five guys at once?

It takes him three minutes flat to reach the back of the school--never has he been more grateful for joining the track and field team. From afar, he can see a horde of students huddled in a circle near the so-called smoke pit, cheering and whooping loudly.

Being president of the student council has its advantages. The foreign exchange student from his Chinese languages class, Renjun, recognizes him immediately. He backs away, pulling his purple-haired friend with him (kids these days, dyeing their hair outrageous colours), and like magic, the crowd parts like the red sea.

“It's the school president.” They turn their faces to the side, subtly avoiding his gaze. Minho surges forward; he doesn't care about any of them, not at the moment.

In the middle of the clearing, a lone figure staggers on his feet. It's Han Jisung. He wipes his lips, stained red with blood, and raises his fists in a fighting stance. Two seniors lie crouched on the ground, groaning and panting for air. Three more circle around Jisung, like a pack of wolves circling their prey. The tense atmosphere suffocates Minho, forcing his words to die at the back of his throat. He can only watch in vain as Jisung's split lips slowly curve into a smirk.

"What are you waiting for?" he taunts, even as he stumbles left and right, seeking for balance. “What are you, a bunch of pussies?”

A wave of rage overtakes the three seniors. Their expressions darken, and one of them lets out a piercing cry, lunging forward with his fists outreached. The others are a step behind him. Minho takes a step forward.

Jisung's smirk widens into a sharp and wicked grin.

Two figures jump out from behind him, bulldozing into the fight, and Minho can see the fists flying, can hear the vicious snarls, can feel his jaw aching as if he's the one being beaten down. There’s a high-pitched shout when the last punch is delivered.

It's over in a second.

Chan and Changbin stand as the conquerors, the fallen crouched at their feet. They’re barely out of breath. For once, Minho can understand why they fight and why people are so drawn towards them. They exude confidence. They're the saviours, the justice warriors, the underdogs, and right now, they look fucking untouchable.

Then Jisung's knees nearly buckle under his weight. He's laughing as Chan catches him in his arms, and Changbin scowls at the crowd to fuck off. They back off, but no one leaves, not even the beaten seniors lying on the ground.

Minho closes his eyes and inhales. He exhales and opens his eyes again. He needs to pull himself together.

"Everyone, leave," he says. He uses the Voice, the one that commands attention, the one that brought him victory in the student elections. The students scramble off. Minho doesn't forget to take note of the seniors' faces, though. He'll report them later.

"Jisung, what were you thinking?" Chan chides, gently holding Jisung up by the arm.

"Quit the nice guy act," Jisung retorts.

"Fucking hell, Jisung. Clearly, you weren't thinking. Five guys? Are you fucking crazy? If we haven't arrived in time, you'd be fucking dead by now!" Changbin kicks the ground in frustration.

"Thanks for the concern, but I'm fine," says Jisung dryly. He pushes Chan off and attempts to stand on his own.

Minho rushes to catch him before he falls over again. "Right, you seem perfectly fine." He raises a skeptical eyebrow down at him.

Jisung frowns. "Can you guys stop acting like I'm some kind of damsel in distress? I could have handled those guys, but thanks for stealing my thunder, I guess. And thanks, school president, for acting like a nosy bastard again. Now can you leave me the fuck alone? I said, I'm fine."

He slaps Minho's hand away and stalks off. Minho watches as Jisung's silhouette grows smaller in the distance. He itches to go after the boy. He spares a glance at Chan and Changbin. They're probably the ones more suitable, though.

"It's Minho, right?" Chan asks.

Minho nods shortly, and Changbin sighs, "Hate to ask you of this, man, but can you go after Jisung and check if he's okay?"

"Why me?" is Minho's first response. It's not like he doesn't want to go after Jisung, but surely, Jisung will feel more comfortable if it's his friends that he sees, not the school president. Not someone who’s basically stranger.

"Jisung's complained about you once or twice. You're the nosy bastard, aren't you?" Chan runs his fingers through his hair. He looks as if he’s visibly aged a couple of years. “Jisung may be our friend, but he never lets us close after a fight. Please, Minho, we can tell that you care, so can you try to get to him?”

Minho finds himself nodding quickly, already running off before Chan can utter another word. They don’t have to ask him twice; he wants to help Jisung. He flicks his wrist to check his watch. 20 minutes before lunch ends. He can make it, probably.

The park has three duck ponds, though no ducks are in sight at this time of the year. He jogs through the park trail, eyes scouring the area for a familiar figure. None. How far could Jisung have gone?

An old woman is walking her pet poodle by the pond. When Minho asks if she’s seen an injured-looking boy around, she pulls her dog close and eyes him warily before making a vague gesture at the general direction behind her. When he thanks her nicely, giving her his signature smile, and leaves, he can hear her rattle on about “kids these days” and “turning into delinquents”. She must be talking about Jisung.

He checks the time. Ten minutes left. He debates whether he should call it the end of a venture and say he looked but couldn't find Jisung. He dismisses the idea as soon as he thinks of it. Instead, he picks up his pace. Out of the park, by the sidewalk of a friendly, suburban neighbourhood, he finds Jisung.

He's sitting at the side of the streets, legs spread wide open as he tilts his head back to the white clouds dotting the blue sky. He finishes the last bit of his cigarette, letting the smoke curl into the breeze, and a light chuckle rolls off his tongue when he sees Minho.

"Didn't I say I'd punch you in the face if you bothered me again? Are you a masochist or what?" he says airily.

“Please don’t,” Minho pleads, mildly concerned. He stands in front of Jisung. The latter looks up at him, a hand shielding his face from the sun, eyes scanning him up and down.

He looks away. There's a forced nonchalance in his voice. “You look like a delinquent or something. Which isn’t good, by the way. You don’t look good. In fact, you look bad.”

"Hm, really?” Minho’s learned to focus on the important things, not the insults. He supposes that with his messy hair and his crinkled collared shirt, along with his missing uniform jacket, he doesn't look up to par. No wonder the old lady was giving him a funny look. "I guess I kinda look like you. _Which isn’t bad, by the way_ ," he mimics Jisung, twisting his words a little bit.

Jisung sends him a glare. "Never in a million years. You still give me the goody-two-shoes vibes, school president."

Minho hums goodnaturedly. “Name’s Lee Minho, remember?”

He’s blatantly ignored as Jisung takes out his cigarette pack, examines the red packaging, and pockets it again. There’s a pause. He tilts his head up. "Worried about my smoking habits?”

"Yes, but not right now." Minho examines the boy closely. The swelling at the corner of his right eye doesn’t look too good, nor does fresh cuts peeking out of his ripped pants. “I’m more worried about _those_. You should get them treated.”

“I'm fine. Stop being so nosy, nosy bastard.”

“As a fellow human being, I think I have every right to be concerned. At least go see the school nurse?”

Jisung rolls his eyes, stuffs his hands into his pockets, and heaves himself up from the concrete ground. “Fuck, no. I told you already, I’m fine.” He stumbles over his feet as soon as he stands up and starts to tip back until Minho grabs him by the waist, steadying him.

He nearly presses his forehead against Jisung’s, but resists in case Jisung decides to follow up with his threat and punch his face. Instead, Minho simply brings his face closer and says quietly, “Or I live, like, five minutes away from here. I can carry you home.”

Jisung twists his neck to the side. “I didn't know you were like that. That’s nasty, school president, manipulating and using your underclassman like that.”

“Wait. What?” Minho gapes. Jisung's implications don't sink in right away. Then a crimson flush rises to his cheeks. “No, I mean I have a first aid kit at home. Like, I can treat your injuries…” He flaps his right hand uselessly and trails off. “You know what I mean!”

“Yeah, sure,” Jisung drawls slowly.

“Yeah, sure, you’ll let me treat your injuries?” Minho says hopefully, eager to let the previous topic drop.

"Don't you have class, school president?"

Minho checks his watch. He wouldn't be able to make it back in time. "We have time,” he lies. “It won't take long, anyway."

Jisung doesn't reply. He gnaws at his lower lip, cracked with blood, and attempts to take another step forward. "Where's your house?" he asks quickly, eyes flickering left and right, never meeting Minho's.

He'll take that as a yes. That wasn’t too hard.

"I can carry you there, if you'll let me," suggests Minho. He takes Jisung's wrist in a loose grip, preventing him from tripping over thin air, again.

Jisung pauses. He studies the fingers around his wrist, then shakes him off and sits back down on the sidewalk. "Yeah, sure," he repeats, voice soft.

Before Jisung can change his mind, Minho crouches down and lets the boy loop his arms around his neck. He gives him a piggyback ride home.

("Am I heavy?" Jisung asks out of the blue.

"Yes. Really heavy," jokes Minho.

"Hah, serves you right, nosy bastard!"

"Name's Lee Minho," insists Minho, as a habit, really.

"Minho, you’re stupid."

"I'm tired of this disrespect," Minho says lightly. “Can’t you at least call me hyung?”

"..."

"Jisung?"

"..."

"Did you just pretend to fall asleep on me?")

And so Jisung fakes slumber during the entire walk, his chin rested snugly on Minho's shoulder. Minho doesn't mind, though.

In the distance, he can hear the school bell ringing. Classes have begun. As the president of the student council, he can’t afford to skip class, not if he wants to keep his position. And his dad. Boy, his dad will freak when he finds out, especially if he figures out that Minho's skipping for the sake of another boy.

And for once in his life, Minho doesn’t give a shit.


	2. ii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey there!! sorry it took so long for me to update. i'm what you call... an expert at procrastinating...
> 
> hopefully, since the next chapter is shorter, i'll be quicker in updating! :D

Neither of them utters another word. Minho enters his house quietly, in case his mother’s home. She’s not. Neither is his dad, but that’s a given. He asks Jisung if he can stand on his own, and Jisung grunts in reply, clambering off his back and sitting on the bench in the foyer. He motions at his shoes and stares at Minho, expectant.

“Seriously?” Minho sighs as he crouches down to unlace Jisung’s shoes.

“You’re the one who seems to think I’m, like, helpless right now.” Jisung shrugs, then winces in pain.

Minho taps Jisung’s forehead with his finger, smiling. “And you’ve just proved my point, I guess.”

Jisung scowls and looks away, flicking his bangs to the side. His eyes wander in mild interest. After Minho's removed both of their shoes, he loops his arms gently around Jisung’s shoulders and helps him up. Then he steers Jisung into his bedroom, sits him on the bed, and goes to find the first aid kit in the kitchen.

“You have a fuck ton of trophies,” Jisung says as soon as he returns. He points to the trophy shelf. “And they’re all nerdy stuff. Like, math contest, debate team, robotics, some student council shit and,” he squints at the engravings on a gold trophy, left on the edge of the shelf, “best teen dancer? Woah, you dance too?”

“Used to,” Minho corrects immediately. “I quit, because I only had time for either dance or school. And school’s more important.”

“Is that you talking, or your dad?”

“Excuse me?” Minho asks, stunned. “Where did you get that idea from?”

“First, your abnormal success in academics, which I doubt you give a single fuck about and,” Jisung continues nonchalantly, never breaking their eye contact, “second, that family picture that was in the foyer? Dead giveaway. I’m, like, pretty sure you have daddy issues.”

Oh. That picture frame. Whenever his mom invites guests over, they gush over their perfect family picture. His mother’s in a pale pink dress, her hand on Minho’s shoulder, while his father stands by her side. And Minho looks exactly like his father, from his fake smile and stiff posture, to his coiffed hair and polished oxford shoes. They might as well be copy and pasted.

Minho will be lying if he said he wasn’t surprised. And he hates it. He hates how right Jisung is.

Minho takes the easy way out; he changes the topic. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says. He unlatches the first aid kit. “You feeling okay? We should get you patched up first."

Jisung raises his eyebrows but to Minho’s relief, doesn’t pry.

“You should probably take off your shirt, if you’re comfortable with that,” Minho urges as he starts cleaning the cuts on Jisung’s face.

He expects a bit of a fight, or at least a snarky reply, but Jisung unbuttons his shirt, white with a few blood stains, and without preamble, tosses it to the ground.

“Hurry the fuck up then,” Jisung says, turning his face to the side, a faint shade of pink dusting over his cheeks, barely visible.

Minho sucks in a breath as he lets his eyes wander over Jisung’s torso. There are only a few cuts here and there, but the number of bruises is overwhelming. Old bruises pepper above his right hip, nearly healed, but a new one is already blooming on his left side. Minho bites his lips. It physically pains him to see the splashes of deep purple, formed by the old blood clotting beneath Jisung's skin. All these bruises that others have inflicted on him in fights. Fights that Jisung likes to start.

When Minho finishes cleaning and bandaging Jisung’s torso, he moves back to Jisung’s face. The question burning at the back of his mind finds its way out of his lips. “Why do you fight?” he asks.

“School president--”

“At least call me hyung,” Minho cuts in quietly.

Jisung gives him a sharp look. “--Don’t ask me why. I didn’t harp on about your dad, so don’t ask me why.”

There’s a silent plea hidden in his tone, and Minho feels a mutual understanding. He applies ointment on the cut beside Jisung’s right eye. Jisung lets his eyes flutter shut. Despite his general wariness of others, his sudden trust in Minho is baffling.

“Alright,” Minho finally says. “I won’t pry, nor will I judge if you wanna tell me. Just allow me to always treat your wounds after a fight, please. That’s all I’ll ever ask of you.”

“Okay,” comes the quick reply. Jisung’s eyes remain closed, but Minho can tell he’s startled by his own response.

Minho hums back happily as he cleans the last speck of blood on Jisung’s knuckles. Then he sits back on his heels and remains kneeled before Jisung. Jisung’s hands rest loosely over his own.

He’s finished. He checks the time. He can hurry and make it back to class, albeit he’ll be really late. Minho doesn’t move, though. He doesn’t speak either. He doesn’t do anything at all and lets another comfortable silence blanket over them. Jisung’s eyes are still closed.

Then Jisung opens his eyes. They're dark brown, alit with golden speckles in the sunlight. “Thank you…Minho hyung.”

Minho feels the corner of his lips quirk up, and Jisung breaks his gaze again, turning to the side in a huff. “Anytime, Jisung.”

 

 

The next day, Chan stops Minho in the middle of the hallway. He gives Minho his and Changbin's number, along with Jisung's. ("Try not to text Jisung unless necessary. And say it was Changbin who gave you his number if he finds out," Chan advises with a sly smirk, then thanks him for his deeds and saunters off like the delinquent he is.)

The weeks pass just like that. Chan and Changbin never fail to give him a subtle nod of respect whenever they see him, because at least three times a week, Minho's phone will ding, signalling a text message from either of them.

[ chan: minor injuries. on the school roof. ]

[ minho: I’ll be right there. ]

[ chan: thanks. We owe you lots ]

It becomes a routine. Minho ditches class (his teachers think he’s going on a long bathroom break), grabs his first aid kit, and rushes to the scene. Jisung’s injuries are typically minor, sometimes severe, but Minho never asks questions, never pries, no matter how much he wants to.

It’s funny, how Jisung only lets Minho near after a fight. Chan and Changbin are never in sight; they’re not allowed to stay.

They don’t talk much, preferring to let a steady silence keep them company. If they do, their conversations are stilted, and Minho catches Jisung forcefully shutting his mouth, as if he's reprimanding himself for sharing too much.

("Smoking relieves stress after a fight, school president," explains Jisung once. Minho plucks the cigarette out of his fingers and offers him a lollipop instead. Jisung complains but takes it, anyway.)

Their conversations may be stilted, but they work. (Although Jisung never calls him ‘Minho hyung’ ever again.)

Meanwhile, Woojin worries about Minho, about his recent disappearances during class and how it'll affect his grades. Minho has to reassure him every time.

He's fine. His grades are fine. Everything will turn out just fine.

 

 

It’s a Friday. Minho slips into his seat, checking the clock behind him. He made it back to class five minutes before the bell.

His classmates don’t notice how long he was gone. They barely pay attention, knees fidgeting as they wait for the bell to ring and for the weekend to arrive. It’s not like Minho can relate. Woojin has family plans, and he doesn’t feel comfortable hanging out with the younger kids yet. They had invited him to a party, and Minho doesn't do parties. So, he'll be at home, studying again.

Minho rests his chin on his palm and sighs. He checks out of the window, the clock, then back at the window. He nearly misses the look of disappointment the teacher gives him.

The bell rings, and Minho’s classmates bolt through the door.

“Minho, can you wait behind? I want to talk to you about something.”

Minho looks up, confused. When the teacher motions him over, he approaches warily.

“You wanted to see me?” he asks, his school bag already slung over his shoulders. He doesn’t want to be sent on another errand again.

“You’ve missed the majority of my classes this week, Minho,” the teacher says slowly. "It hasn't just been this week either. I've contacted your other teachers, and they've all said you've been acting off for a month already. Your grades have even slipped. Granted, you're still getting an A overall, but your recent assignments and tests have been going down in marks."

Minho inhales sharply, and the teacher starts to take out files from the cabinet behind him, probably to give him time to think about his actions or some bullshit like that.

"I'm sorry," Minho says finally. "I won't do it again."

"But how did this happen in the first place?"

“And how are you this nosy?” mutters Minho. He's feeling brazen all of the sudden. Must be Jisung rubbing off on him.

“Did you say something?”

"Nothing," Minho replies quickly. "I said, I'm sorry. I think it's due to my lack of self-motivation. I'll work on regaining my focus and becoming a better role model for the students."

The teacher's shoulders visibly relax, and Minho has to stop himself from visibly rolling his eyes. All he wants to do is go home and forget about school for once.

"You're a good kid, Minho, I can tell.” The teacher pats his shoulder awkwardly. “I've heard you've been seen hanging out with the wrong crowd lately. I suggest you distance yourself from them."

"I will." Minho nods. And sure, when pigs fly. He'll be damned if he destroys the fragile friendship he has with Jisung.

"Okay, that's good… You know, I’m just worried about you. I’m friends with your mother, and I know she’ll be worried if she heard you were purposely skipping class…” The teacher pauses, and hums to himself. “I should probably give her a call. I trust you, Minho, but I feel like your parents have a right to know what their child is up to--”

“Please don’t call my parents.”

The teacher tilts his head. “Oh? You know your parents just want the best for you. Your dad, especially--”

“I said, don’t call my parents,” Minho repeats firmly, if not a hint of desperation in his tone.

The teacher flinches, then shakes his head and rambles. Minho drowns out his voice. The minutes trickle away as the teacher wastes his breath on the importance of ‘parental guidance’. When it’s obvious he won’t be stopping anytime soon, Minho pretends to check his phone.

“I’m sorry, but I have cram school after school. Please don’t call my parents. I’m trying my best and I don’t want to worry them too much.”

Without waiting for a reply, Minho grabs his binders, flashes the teacher a polite smile and leaves. When he shuts the door behind him, he takes a moment to lean against the lockers, calming his rapid heartbeat. He hopes the teacher doesn’t call home for real.

“You good?”

Minho nearly drops his binder. Jisung smirks at him on the opposite wall, hands in his pockets. He pushes off the wall and lurches forward until their noses are an inch apart. Minho begins to take a step back, but then realizes he has nowhere to go. He blinks in confusion.

It's the first time Jisung’s came to find him, and not the other way around.

“Hello? Earth to the school president?” Jisung waves his hand over his face. “What happened? Were you in trouble with the teacher for once?”

“Ah, no, not really. I'm fine. It was just school stuff,” Minho stutters, waiting for Jisung to back off. He doesn’t. “You smell like cigarette smoke,” he adds, wrinkling his nose.

Jisung jumps back immediately. “Right. Sorry, forgot about that.”

He genuinely looks guilty for getting in Minho’s space, and Minho eyes him curiously. “What happened to the bag of candy I gave you? You know, so you could stop smoking?”

Jisung rolls his eyes. “Don’t nag me, school president.” Then he says, “You know what? I think you should loosen up a bit.”

Minho opens his mouth, about to retaliate, when Jisung takes out one of his lollipops (that Minho gave him in the first place!), and stuffs it into his mouth. “These are useful for one thing at least,” Jisung mutters underneath his breath.

Minho shuts his mouth out of reflex. The lollipop tastes sweet, like candied apples. He can’t understand why Jisung prefers cigarettes over candy.

“Anyway, get-together at Chan’s place. Imma show up at your house to walk you there at seven ish.” Jisung points his index finger at Minho’s chest, harshly.

Minho raises an eyebrow. “I don’t do parties. I didn’t think it would be your kind of scene either,” he garbles out with the lollipop still in his mouth.

“Do you need me to spell out for you? I said, _get-together,_ not party,” Jisung enunciates every syllable in ‘get-together’.

He pokes Minho’s chest again, says the last word, “Don’t be late, school president,” and saunters off, kind of like how Chan does.

And just like that, he’s gone.

Minho smiles to himself, his previous worries forgotten. There are a lot of ways to show that you care about someone. That was Jisung’s way.

 

 

Minho wasn’t lying to the teacher when he said he has cram school. It starts after dinner, at seven.

At the very least, he prides himself on being a good son to his mother. He tells her honestly that he’s going out with friends and that he’s skipping cram school. She accepts this, encourages it even, but warns him that his father isn’t going to be happy with him when he gets home from work.

Minho can’t bring himself to care.

 

 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” are Jisung’s first words when Minho leaves his house.

Minho runs his hand through his hair, uncomfortable. Right before he had left, his mother had taken one look at him and sighed. After a few minutes of rummaging through his closet, she had found his old dance clothes and handed him a pair of his old ripped skinny jeans, a loose white t-shirt, and then she had brushed his hair to the side to reveal his forehead and gave him his black studs.

And she had kept on going, adding little touch-ups here and there. (Minho had briefly wondered if this was normal mom behaviour. Probably not.) He had stopped her when she had taken out a choker. No, thanks. All he had wanted was casual wear, that’s it.

He ends up dressing like Jisung. Except Jisung has more earrings, darker clothes, and overall, the confidence to pull everything off.

To say Minho’s self-conscious is putting it mildly.

“Let’s just go,” he says, shoving his hands into the pockets of his bomber jacket and getting a head start.

Jisung doesn't follow. Minho isn't sure, but he can feel the other's eyes piercing through him, possibly scanning him up and down and judging him. Then Jisung speaks up.

"Wrong way, school president."

Right. He has no idea where Chan lives.

He does a one-eighty and lets Jisung take the lead.

 

It isn't a 'get-together' with friends. Minho's sheltered but not stupid. Jisung takes his arm and drags him into the house; booming bass, spilt drinks and stumbling teens. A fucking party.

People recognize him, obviously. Minho catches tilted heads and questioning eyes from students of all ages and genders, but mostly, it's the girls who do a double-take, like they're seeing him in a new light.

"I thought you said it was a 'get-together' and that you don't do parties," Minho tells Jisung.

"What?"

"I said, I thought you said it was a 'get-together' and that you don't like parties."

"What did you say?" Jisung yells over the loud bass, a smirk at the edge of his lips.

"You don't like parties!" Minho blurts out, shouting.

"I never said that, did I?" is Jisung's enigmatic reply before he slips into the crowd and disappears, leaving Minho alone among strangers. What an asshole.

He hates it. Minho wants to say that he’s too sober for this, but he doesn’t condone underage drinking either. So, it’s a lose-lose situation. The only thing stopping him from ditching is the fact that, somewhere in the house, there's Jisung. Not like Minho's worried about the asshole, not at all.

He searches and asks around for Jisung, but fails to get a coherent reply from anybody. Surprisingly enough, it’s a guy who makes a move on Minho first, probably too drunk to care about anyone’s opinion. With a powdery white pill on his tongue, he gestures at Minho to kiss him and swallow the pill, or whatever. Minho politely declines with a shake of his head and takes a step back, bumping into a petite girl. She laughs at his flustered apologies before sidestepping and letting him escape the crowd.

Once he’s managed to slip away, Minho leans against the stair railing, a couple of feet away from the main crowd. “Where the hell is he?” he mutters, frustrated.

"Relax, student president, I'm right here," someone whispers into his left ear, and Minho shivers. Then he's pushed forward. The crowd rages like the sea, devouring him as they continue to make out with each other and dance and dance and dance.

"Dance."

Minho turns around. Jisung's smiling widely, irrepressibly, arrogantly tilting his chin up and swaying his shoulders to the beat.

Nobody on the floor has any real dance moves. No one except for Jisung. Minho follows his movements. The crowd, as if sensing a sudden change, part to form a circle, pulsating around them.

For the first time during the night, Minho feels comfortable in his own skin. He starts to freestyle instead, smooth and concise, and Jisung steps up with a fire in his eyes. Jisung does have talent, but Minho's better than him. He's not trying to act arrogant; he just knows.

He stops trying to show off, and Jisung stops trying to one-up him. It might seem ridiculous, but some inexplicable force draws them together and the world fades into the distance. The dim lights hit all the right angles, illuminating Jisung's candid eyes, his cheekbones, his jawline. They draw attention to his cuts and bruises, to his split lips.

It might seem ridiculous, but it feels like a moment. There might as well be 'MOMENT' written in neon letters hovering above them. The moment Minho eyes flutter shut; the moment Jisung leans in; the moment their lips--

“Minho hyung!”

And the moment’s gone. Minho doesn’t know what he was thinking, nearly kissing Jisung; it isn’t the right place or time for that. Does he even like Jisung? Does Jisung like him?

"Hooty hoo, Minho hyung, over here!"

He whips his head around to find the familiar voice and sure enough, a familiar figure waves at him from the corner of the room. It's Felix, and beside him, Hyunjin and Seungmin. Minho looks back to find Jisung missing, again. He frowns. He feels out of the place and alone in the crowd, and slinks away to find his other friends.

"Hey," he greets the trio, all casual.

“Sup,” Seungmin reiterates with a low voice, mocking him. "Enjoying life, hyung?"

Minho cocks an eyebrow, rolling his shoulder back. "You could say that."

The three of them stare at him, deadpan, until Minho breaks into an awkward smile. "What is it?" he asks uneasily. Does he have something on his face? Did his worst fears come true and it turns out he does look like an idiot trying to dress 'edgy'?

They visibly relax at his response, and Seungmin drawls, "You look different, but you're still the same Minho hyung."

"Your dance moves, though! What the gosh darn heck was that?" Felix says, shaking Minho’s shoulders until he pushes him off. "I didn't know you could dance! You were lowkey killing it!"

“Emphasize on the lowkey, though,” snarks Hyunjin as he starts to imitate Minho's 'sexy' dance moves and rolls his hips. Minho feels his eyebrow twitch at the disrespect.

"I don't dance like that."

"You sure about that, hyung?" Seungmin laughs as he joins Hyunjin by the arm, then Felix does the same, and Minho has to crack a smile. Seeing his three underclassmen having fun acting like idiots (even though it's at Minho's expense), is enough to lift his spirits.

"We're glad, though. To be honest, we've always been worried about you living your life as a hermit or something," Seungmin says all of the sudden, serious.

"You always say no whenever we asked you to come with!" accuses Felix. "Then you show up out of nowhere, dressed coolly, and dancing with Han Jisung of all people. Like, what the actual heck."

"How did he convince you? You’re like the epitome of lameness," asks Seungmin.

Minho raises his hands in defence. "He didn't convince me. I was deceived into coming here."

"Sure, hyung." Hyunjin rolls his eyes. He grimaces. "Since when were you guys friends, anyway?"

“More than just friends, you guys almost kissed!” Felix makes a kissy face, then gags in disgust.

“We did not,” Minho says hotly.

“Wow, lying to your friends. How could you?” Seungmin clutches his heart and falls to his knees in mock horror.

“Why are you guys like this,” Minho snaps, without any heat.

Felix gives him a wide, smug smile. He opens his mouth to retort until he spots someone over Minho’s shoulder. His eyes widen and he waves. “Changbin hyung, over here!”

“Changbin?” Minho asks incredulously.

When Felix shrugs offhandedly, like it’s no big deal, Hyunjin stares at him knowingly. “Felix has a crush on him. I don’t understand why, though.”

“Shut up!” Felix elbows Hyunjin in the gut, but Hyunjin simply laughs it off.

That’s… interesting. If Minho hadn't known any better, he would have been worried. It’s Changbin, though, and now that he thinks about it, he and Felix kind of fit well together. Maybe. He’d have to question Chanbin later, anyway.

"Hey," greets Felix as soon as Changbin is close in vicinity.

Changbin gives him a subtle nod and smile, but otherwise focuses on Minho. Minho feels offended on Felix's behalf. He scowls. Changbin doesn't seem to notice or care. "Jisung. Backyard. Stupid punk got into another fight again."

Fuck. It's only been, what, ten minutes?

Does Jisung have no self-control?

Minho pushes through the crowd, not even bothering to thank Changbin or say goodbye to the others. Changbin follows his lead, Felix at his heels. He hears a loud shatter of glass breaking, and a sense of dread fills his guts. Quiet, murmurous whispers erupt from, "What was that?" to "It's Han Jisung" and "Not again, why is he even here?" and "He brings trouble where he goes. Talk about bad luck" before finally,

"Why isn't the dumb fuck dead already?"

Changbin socks that last guy in the jaw before Minho can.

 

The scene outside isn't as gruesome as he'd imagined. In the short seconds it takes Minho to get outside, the fight's already over. A broken beer bottle lies on the grass, its cracked edges glinting in the moonlight. Chan's panting as he holds some guy by the collar--he looks fine. Jisung has his eyes closed, his back on the ground, blood on his knuckles. People circle and hover around them, but nobody does anything to help. Not like it matters. Jisung would have bitten their hands off if they tried.

It's a familiar scene yet for the first time, Minho can't stop seeing red.

"Why, why, why," he asks, a snarl clawing at the back of his throat. The image of the broken beer bottle burns in his mind. "You're gonna get killed one day! Fuck, you could have gotten killed today!"

"Minho, what are you doing?" Changbin's voice echoes in the background.

Lethargically, Jisung opens an eye. "I think that's the first time I've ever heard you swear."

"For fuck's sake, Jisung." Minho kneels in front of Jisung and snatches his collar, lifting his head off of the ground. "Why do you have to fight wherever you go?" his voice cracks.

"We had a deal," Jisung spits out, scrambling up, his hands grappling Minho's arm. Minho doesn't let go. "Don't fucking ask why, school president."

"If I don't ask why now, it's gonna be too late after. You're gonna be dead in a ditch somewhere and there'll be nothing I can do!”

Jisung doesn't even bother responding. With one last burst of strength, he shoves Minho off and stumbles to the side. At the same time, the crowd of people retreats.

"Fuck all of you," says Jisung. He spares Minho a glance and looks away. Minho isn't sure, but he swears he sees something wet at the corner of Jisung's eyes. Crying over him? Impossible. Crying in physical pain? More likely. Minho can't bring himself to get up, though.

When Jisung's gone, someone says, "Talk about overdramatic."

True. To others, maybe it seems like they're making a huge deal over nothing, but they don't know anything. Who are they to judge?

Minho sits back, cradling his face in his palms. He wants to go after Jisung, but he knows he should let the latter cool off. Minho has broken their promise, and he can tell it's going to take time before Jisung forgives him or lets him near. If he ever does. (Why is he so stubborn?)

His phone buzzes for the umpteenth time.

[ mom : minho. When are you coming home? ]

[ mom : your dad’s worried… ]

[ mom : minho ]

[ mom : please reply ]

[ mom : your dad’s in a worse mood than usual ]

[ mom : we got a call from your teacher. Please come home immediately ]

[ mom : minho? Are you okay? ]

...

[ minho : i’ll be home soon ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (note that the more i write, the more i cringe. the more i cringe, the less likely i'm gonna reread and edit. so, please tell me if anything is confusing and i'll take a look at it ~ )


	3. iii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM HERE!
> 
> Sorry for the really long delay! I lost all motivation and will, so i just decided to cram and finish the fic in one go (otherwise i'd feel bad lakfsjslkfj)
> 
> and thank you for all the sweet comments!!! you guys are the best and really make my day ~

Minho stands on his front porch, sweat gathering at the back of his neck as he waits. The light at the door flickers on, the door unlocks and the doorknob twists. It’s not his father that Minho’s afraid of - not yet. Instead, it’s his mother who greets him at the entrance, her face grim and her lips stretched into a thin line. He’s the cause of this, and Minho hates it more than anything else.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. She pulls him into a tight embrace, her chin resting on his shoulder.

“Don’t be sorry. You did nothing wrong.” She pulls back and pats his head, her gaze filled with unbridled love. Her eyes darken again. “Your father’s waiting in the dining room. Try not to antagonize him too much, okay?”

Minho finds him nodding, barely. He heads to the dining room, his mother’s hand on his back for support. He brushes her hand away with a small smile; he has to deal with this alone.

Every time something like this happens, Minho has to force himself to count his blessings. His parents rarely fight (and even when they do, it’s Minho’s fault), and his father doesn’t hit him unless necessary - he’s not abusive. So, really, Minho shouldn’t be complaining.

Yet the moment he steps into the dining room, steps under the dim lights, steps into his father’s view, he falters.

His father’s still in his work suit, although his tie is already loosened, three buttons of his collared shirt unbuttoned. He clasps his hands into a tight fist, resting them on the table. He doesn’t acknowledge Minho’s presence, but his eyes sharpen.

Minho takes a deep breath. “I’m home, father.”

When the man before him doesn’t speak, Minho takes a step back, turning around. He might as well head upstairs if it’s going to be like this. He can’t deal with this shit right now.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Minho halts. “Upstairs.”

“Have I dismissed you yet? We’re not done talking.”

“We weren’t talking in the first place.”

“Minho.” The chair screeches against the hardwood floor as his father stands up. In three quick steps, he’s in front of Minho. They’re eye to eye, he’s not even taller, and Minho bitterly wonders when his father’s gotten so short, his presence weak.

“Yeah?” There’s a hint of challenge in his voice, and his father visibly bristles.

“Your teacher called,” he spits out.

Minho forces down a grimace. He can’t show a hint of weakness. Taking a step further, getting into his father’s personal space, he scoffs, “And? What do you want? I’m still getting an A in that class, and all of my other classes too. It’s not like I skip classes either. My attendance is practically perfect. So really, you shouldn’t be complaining.”

It’s in the moment, really. Pent up emotions and all that. He can’t stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth - breathless and antagonizing. He’s sick of it. Sick of the rules, sick of the insults and sick of his father.

“And so what if I skip cram school? I got permission from mother and it’s not like I drank or anything.” He lets out a dry laugh. “You gotta stop acting like such a nosy asshole. Unclench a little bit? Really, you’re lucky I haven’t rebelled against you until now, if this even counts as rebelling.”

He hears the slap before he feels it, then the pain blossoms on his left cheek, stinging slightly. His jaw kind of hurts, but otherwise, it’s not a big deal. With an odd sense of detachment, Minho watches as his father grows redder in anger; he looks like an overgrown toddler, like someone who can’t take no for an answer.

“Don’t talk to your father like that, you impudent brat. This is my house, my rules. Have some respect.” He raises his hand again, but this time, Minho grabs his wrist before he can hit him.

“Lee Dongwon, you stop it, right now!” his mother intervenes, her tone strict. “You’re not going to hit our son.”

“He needs to learn to have some respect for his _father_!”

“You’re getting redundant,” Minho says bluntly. “I’m tired. Imma head to bed. Goodnight, mother. And father.”

He heads upstairs without bothering to take a glance back. He hears his mother berating his father, but her tone is soothing, meant to calm and ease. How did someone as sweet as his mother fall in love with someone like his father? He shakes his head. His father loves his mother. Whether he loves his own son or not is a different story.

Minho shuts his bedroom door quietly, careful not to let his temper get to him. It felt nice standing up for himself for once, but he knows he shouldn’t have spoken to his father like that. His mother had even told him not to antagonize him too much. He’s such a failure of a son.

Minho launches himself onto his bed and covers his eyes with his arm.

It’s true he’s still getting an A in all his classes, but it’s also true that his grades are steadily dropping. If he can’t keep his high grades, then there’s no point in trying to apply to that university his father wants him to go to. But then again, does Minho even want to go that school?

His father loves him. Deep down, Minho knows that the reason why his father’s always on his case is that he loves him and he wants him to succeed. Is that enough to justify his actions? Minho’s dubious.

And, don’t get him started on Jisung. Minho flips to his side. The image of the broken beer bottle, lying ominously at the side, burns in his mind. All it takes is one second, one wrong move, for Jisung to fall off the face of the earth and _die._ Even if he doesn’t, skirting through high school with bruised lips and abysmal grades isn’t going to get him anywhere.

But then again, why should he care? He and Jisung might have grown closer over the course of the past few weeks (if silent conversations on the school rooftop counts), but Jisung obviously doesn’t trust him. They’re not that _close._ The closest they’ve ever gotten is… the kiss.

“Fuck,” Minho groans. It’s not like he and Jisung actually kissed. They just got really close. Too close for comfort.

His heart hurts all of a sudden, pounding against his chest. On cue, his phone rings. The name ‘Woojin’ flashes across his screen. He blinks at the bright light before swiping his thumb to the right.

“Yeah?” he answers tiredly.

“Felix called me. Told me the gist of what happened,” Woojin says cautiously. “You doing okay?”

“I’m fine,” his voice cracks.

“Minho,” Woojin soothes him. “You know you can tell me anything, right? I won’t judge.”

And that’s all it takes for Minho to spill his fucking sob story.

Woojin takes it in surprisingly well. (Minho can’t see his friend’s face, but he seems okay.) He hums every now and then to show that he’s listening, but otherwise, he stays quiet, letting Minho rant about his father, school, and most importantly, Jisung.

“So I was right? You like Han Jisung?” Woojin says smugly after Minho’s finished.

Minho splutters, “I don’t-”

“You know that’s okay, right? If you like Jisung?”

Minho frowns. “That’s not what this is about, Woojin.”

“Look, I’m not a professional counsellor or anything, so everything I say you should take with a grain of salt. But your dad’s an asshole, and it’s not your fault. If you wanna go to university, go for it. If you don’t, then it’s fine. I know I said I was worried about your grades before, but that’s just because I don’t want you to regret anything afterwards. Otherwise, live your life, man.”

“Woojin-”

“If you don’t like guys, that’s okay. If you like guys and if you like a specific guy called Han Jisung, that’s also okay. It’s 2018, dude. Your feelings are valid. You’re valid.”

“Woojin, I got it,” Minho says, after letting Woojin’s words linger in the air for a moment.

“Wait, what? Really?”

“Well, you said everything I already knew.”

“Minho,” Woojin says, disapproval ringing clear in his voice. Minho cracks a smile.

“No, I mean it. I forget these things easily, that’s all. Thanks for reminding me that my feelings are valid,” he teases. He sobers up quickly. “For real, thanks for listening. It’s not like all my problems went away, but I feel so much better.”

“No problem! You know I’m here for you. Seungmin, Felix and Hyunjin too. And Jisung…” Woojin trails off.

The last time he had seen Jisung, he had spat, ‘Fuck all of you.’

“I’m sure he’ll come around,” Woojin says slowly. “Like, I don’t know the kid, but it sounds like he trusted you a lot.”

“I broke his trust, though,” Minho says brokenly.

“Nah, you were just worried about him. Like I said, he’ll come around. Probably. You guys should talk it out.”

Minho pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “Yeah, I know. Thanks anyway, Woojin.”

“Peace out, bro.”

Minho stares at his phone after Woojin hangs up. It’s past midnight. He finds himself texting Jisung anyway, typing out a message and hitting send before he can stop himself.

[ minho : hey. This is minho. I’m sorry for everything I said earlier. I broke your trust. I really am sorry ]

He lets his phone fall back on his bed, and waits. It’s not like he anything better to do. He can’t bring himself to fall asleep. He can hear his parents’ voices murmuring down the hall. It sounds like they’re getting ready for bed.

His phone vibrates.

[ jisung : what the fuck. How did u get my number. ]

[ minho : chan told me to say it was changbin ]

[ jisung : imma kill them both. Fuck. ]

...

[ jisung : im at the school park ]

[ minho : at this time? Isn’t it dangerous jisung ]

[ jisung : shut up. I said i'm at the school park ]

[ minho : omw. Please stay safe. ]

[ jisung : whatever. ]

The school park is a ten-minute walk from his house. If he runs, he should be able to make it in two. Minho quickly exchanges his bomber jacket from the party for his favourite pale grey hoodie. Tugging the hood over his head, he makes his way downstairs. His mother’s in the kitchen, taking a glass of water before bed. All she has to do is send him an apologetic smile, then a surreptitious wink, for Minho to realize that he really does love his mother.

She lets him leave, and he locks the door behind him.

 

 

Jisung’s sitting at the edge of the sidewalk, on the outskirts of the school park, legs spread out and a cigarette lit in between his busted lips. Minho sees the brief flicker of wariness in his tensed shoulder when he spots his shadow. They loosen when Minho steps under the streetlight.

Without a word - Minho’s feeling out of breath from the run - he drops down beside Jisung. Jisung pulls his knees up, and Minho follows suit.

"Hey," Minho finally breathes out.

Jisung doesn't spare him a reply, or another glance. He tilts his head up at the smoke curling into the night sky and closes his eyes. He knocks his right knee against Minho's. They're both wearing ripped skinny black jeans - not suitable for the night weather. Minho can see the goosebumps on parts of his and Jisung's leg, open to the chilly breeze.

He pulls down his sleeves. "I'm sorry for breaking our agreement. I broke your trust, didn't I? I shouldn't have done that. Sorry."

"How many times are you gonna say sorry, you dumbass?" Jisung huffs and crosses his arms. "You sound pathetic apologising when it wasn't your fault."

"Doesn't mean I can't say sorry," Minho shuffles closer to Jisung, fingers brushing against his elbow. Jisung shudders at the sudden contact. "I'm sorry, Jisung, for acting like a nosy bastard."

"Fuck you. You treated my injuries for weeks and didn't pry like Chan or Changbin hyung would have."

Minho hisses in a breath. Talk about stubborn. "But we had an agreement, and I promised not to ask why you fought but I still did. I have every right to say sorry."

"And I have every right not to accept your stupid apology! I was the one who overreacted so shut the fuck up."

“Is this your subtle way of… apologising?”

“Fuck off.” Jisung turns away, the tip of his ears bright red. The streetlight catches his cross earring, gleaming silver. An awful feeling of fondness bubbles in Minho. He lets it go, and they sit, under the streetlight in silence, keeping each other company. It’s cold and late, but returning home doesn’t cross his mind.

“You were right, by the way,” he says, out of the blue. Jisung twitches in response.

“I’m always right.”

“Sure you are. Just wanted to let you know, anyway,” Minho says, as nonchalantly as possible. “That you were right. I do have daddy issues.”

“Cool,” Jisung hums noncommittally. Minho doesn’t let it deter him.

“He’s the typical authoritarian parent, you know? High expectations and not very loving. He has the ‘my way or the highway’ approach to everything. He wants me to follow his footsteps and become a respectable member of society, whatever that means.”

Jisung snorts, “You’re the definition of a respectable member of society, school president.”

“I know.” Minho smiles bitterly. “I’m fine with that, but I don’t know if I want to follow my father’s footsteps. All he seems to care about is money and bringing pride to the family name. My mother’s more chill about it. They fight over me sometimes, on how to parent me properly.”

“You dad sounds like an asshole,” Jisung says bluntly.

“Yeah, I know. That’s what Woojin said too. He’s still my father, though. I’m scared of disappointing him.”

“That’s bullshit.”

Minho lets out a dry laugh. “Fuck, I know. I need to get away from him, so I’ll probably move out after high school. I don’t know. I’ll figure it out, somehow. Maybe major in dance, learn how to sing, become a kpop star.”

That’s when Jisung finally looks at him and smiles, teeth and all. “You’re too ugly to be a kpop star.”

“Who cares about looks when you can have talent.” Minho pushes his shoulder gently, although Jisung doesn’t budge. “Besides, you were the one who said, and I quote, ‘You wouldn't want to get that _handsome_ face of yours all bloody,’ when you threatened to punch me.”

Jisung shoves him back, which tells Minho he’s embarrassed. He flicks the last remnants of his cigarette and pulls out a pack from his pocket, lighting up a new one. No big deal (except Minho hates it). With his head tilted back again, he inhales, then exhales. The smell is nauseating.

“I don’t fight because I want to. At least, not all the time.” Jisung stares at the sky for a long time, and although Minho wants to tell him that he doesn’t owe him anything, he has a feeling Jisung isn’t done. He starts again after a while. “My little brother was bullied. I beat up the bullies and got expelled. Here I am now.”

Minho swallows. He can tell Jisung’s leaving out a lot of details, but he doesn’t dare pry. Not yet.

“I literally defended Jeo- my brother once. Now, random dudes try to pick a fight with me all the time. It’s fucking ridiculous but there isn’t much I can do about it. Besides, I get this adrenaline rush from fighting, sometimes.”

“What about your little brother?” Minho asks. “What happened to him?”

Jisung sends him a nasty smirk. “They know better than to mess with him now.” He shrugs like he doesn’t care about his own safety, which is probably true. “They fuck with him, then they’ll have to deal with me. And they know that I _always_ win.”

“And if you don’t?”

Jisung cocks an eyebrow. “If I don’t, what?”

“If you don’t win. You’re still human, Jisung. There’s gonna be a day when you lose, and Chan and Changbin won't always be there to help you.” _I won't always be there._ “What’s gonna happen to your brother then?”

“Won’t happen.”

“What do you mean, won’t happen,” says Minho, using air-quotes.

“Won’t happen means it won’t happen.” Jisung tries to stare him down. Minho stares back.

“Don’t be stupid. Does your brother like that you’re fighting?” At Jisung’s lack of response, Minho plows on. “I’m not saying you can’t defend yourself, but you should avoid as many fights as possible. Not instigate them. If you don’t care about your safety then think about your brother. What’s he gonna do without you?” _What am I gonna do?_

“You’re getting really preachy right now, school pres,” Jisung warns with a glare. His hands form closed fists at his sides. Minho doesn’t blink.

“I’m only telling the truth, Jisung.”

His chest suddenly deflates, and he throws his hands back in defeat. “Fine! I'm sick of this sob story fest anyway. I promise not to get into any fights _if_ possible. Happy?” He tips back, his neck and bruised jawline on display, cheeks red and purple. He's - what's the word? - aesthetic. Beautiful. Minho would snap a picture if he could. Then Jisung opens his pack of cigarettes again, and Minho nudges his shoulder.

“Not yet. What happened to the candy I gave you?” he finally addresses the smoking, wrinkling his nose in distaste. Jisung says he’s not addicted to smoking; he simply prefers to take a puff to destress, especially after a fight. Really, Minho doesn’t get the appeal.

This makes Jisung pause. He studies the remaining cigarettes he has left, then folds the cover over the top and pockets them. He takes out a bag of candy from his other pocket. “You want one?”

Minho barely manages a nod before Jisung leans forward, cold hands pressed against his thighs, split lips on Minho’s and, although Minho tastes the blood and a tinge of iron, it’s soon replaced by something sugary and sweet. Shock stills his limbs, his arms hanging loosely at the side. Their mouths are open against each other and warmth sparks in his blood, humming underneath his skin. Then his lips are cold, and a car passes by.

Minho opens his eyes, not realising he had closed them in the first place. There's lemon candy in his mouth. He feels his mouth falling open in a small 'O'.

"You said you wanted one. So I gave you one." Jisung stands up, running a hand through his hair. Minho tries not to stare too long because he knows he’ll lose control. “Got a problem with that?”

“Not at all.”

(And maybe he walks Jisung home, letting the hush of the night breeze keep them company, the silent buzz from the streetlights, a prowling cat mewling. Maybe Minho feels the fleeting touch of a hand brushing against his, rough and calloused. And maybe, just maybe, he reaches out to hold Jisung’s hand, slotting their fingers together in the shadows.)

 

 

[ chan : so i heard you and jisung made up ]

[ minho : he told you? ]

[ chan : yeah. He also told me he’d fucking kill me. What happened to putting all the blame on changbin?? ]

[ minho : sorry not sorry. I didn’t want to lie to jisung ]

[ chan : wow you’re whipped ]

[ minho : excuse me? ]

[ chan : nothing. Jisung finally opened up to changbinnie and me. It’s all cause of you so thanks ]

[ minho : i didn’t really do much ]

[ chan : hush. You helped a lot. ]

[ chan : which is also why! ]

[ chan : you and your friends are Officially invited to eat with 3racha ]

[ minho : what. ]

[ chan : monday. Meet at the courtyard. We’ll take you to our Secret hangout spot ;-) ]

[ minho : should i be worried ]

[ chan : you better be there m8!!! ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is longer and kinda the grand finale. It will be up in like, three days. pinky swear. :D


	4. iv

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> final chapter!! It's a bit long, sorry.

It’s Monday morning. His first class is with the teacher that had ratted him out to his parents. He tries to make eye contact with Minho and even has the audacity to call him after class, but Minho comes up with half-baked excuses and manages to evade him. (Although he’s lost all respect for that teacher and wants to confront him, he knows the time isn’t right, if ever.)  

Soon, lunch rolls around. He barely has time to think about Chan’s offer; he tucks his textbook into his backpack before Felix comes marching in, slamming his hands on either side of his desk and squinting down at him.

“Hyung, you better invite me to eat lunch with you today or else I’m disowning you.”

“I’m literally the older one here, Felix,” Minho says, not even surprised. His invitation to eat with the infamous 3racha had somehow spread throughout the entire student body. The curious gazes from onlookers physically weigh down on him as they wonder if he, the school president, will choose to mingle with the so-called delinquents.

“Only in age,” Felix dismisses, and Minho feels his eyebrow twitch. “Look, I’ve been trying to eat lunch with Changbin hyung for _ages,_ so I better be your plus one. You owe me for giving you that tip on Jisung a few weeks ago.”

“Excuse me? From what I remember, I was also there.” From behind, Hyunjin plops his chin on Felix’s shoulder, while Seungmin trails in after him. “I should be the plus one.”

“Is this what betrayal feels like?” Felix splutters indignantly. “You know I have a crush on Changbin hyung.”

“Stop being so overdramatic,” Hyunjin says, rolling his eyes. “I just wanna see what the big deal is about them, since you and Minho hyung are so obsessed.”

“Me too,” pipes in Seungmin, as Felix mutters a, ‘I’m not obsessed…’

“Actually, as Minho’s certified best friend, I should have a guaranteed spot as his plus one. Right, Minho?” Woojin suddenly appears from the doorway, a dangerous smile on his face.

Minho feels a headache brewing behind his temples. “You do realize Chan didn't mention a plus one?” he says.

“But-” Felix starts.

“He said I could bring friends. As in, plural. Multiple friends. I guess all of you can come with, if you want.”

Before he has the time take another breath, Felix grabs his arm and drags him out of the classroom, yelling, "What are you waiting for then? Let's go, hyung!" and the rest follow without a word of complaint.

 

 

 

Minho doesn't know what he was expecting when Chan led them out of the courtyard. A sketchy grey warehouse in the middle of nowhere, riddled with graffiti and cigarettes, perhaps? Instead, Chan beckons them into a makeshift den, at the outskirts of the park at the back of the school, hidden in the foliage by the pond.

When they enter through the archway, Changbin spots them from his seat on a tilted tree stump and nods his head in greeting. He's holding a can of Coca-Cola in his hand, sipping it sporadically as Felix immediately drapes over him for a hug. Minho watches them curiously - he's grown to respect Changbin, but if he hurts Felix, he won't hesitate to end him. Changbin's softened eyes and relaxed stance as Felix talks animatedly about his recent video game ventures is enough to reassure him, for the moment.

"This is some advanced boy scouts stuff right here," says Hyunjin. Minho hums in agreement. Besides the cigarette butts scattered on the ground and the beer cans hidden amongst the soda pops, the hangout is cute in a juvenile kind of way.

Jisung’s resting on the hammock placed at the edge of the den, hands behind his neck, eyes fluttered shut. He doesn’t bother acknowledging their presence.

Minho gives the hammock a light tap. "Hey."

No response, except for a lazy middle finger.

"Wow, he's the definition of badass," notes Seungmin, with Hyunjin clinging to his shoulder. "He's so badass that it's almost try-hard."

Jisung visibly twitches, although he stubbornly continues to ignore them. So, Minho rummages his bag for a bag of candy (he has the habit of carrying an extra around just in case Jisung 'forgets' his own) and pops in an orange flavoured candy to loudly say: "Underneath the tough guy act, he's actually pretty sweet. He even gave me a piece of candy one time." That's when Jisung opens his eyes, panicked, and Minho smiles, bending over. "Maybe I should return the favour?"

Jisung scrambles to get away. The hammock flips over, dumping his body unceremoniously onto the ground. His hair’s messy from the fall, so Minho takes the time to smooth out the bumps with his fingers, pleasingly taking note of Jisung’s scowl, accompanied by flaming red cheeks.

“Gotcha.” He winks, and pops in another candy. He reaches out to pinch Jisung’s cheeks but is rebutted as Jisung angrily whacks his hand away and mutters a, ‘fuck off’. Hyunjin and Seungmin share a knowing glance.

 

 

It takes some time, but the eight of them click.

 

 

It turns out Chan and Woojin already knew each other (“I didn’t know _you_ were friends with sketchy people,” Hyunjin had said), although they refuse to tell anyone how they met in the first place.

(A late-night conversation with Woojin had eventually led him to confess that he had helped Chan pass his math class one time. They’d kept in contact afterwards.)

Also, strangely enough, Minho finds himself acting more boldly than ever before when it comes to Jisung. They claim the ratty couch on the other side of the hammock as their own, with Minho's arms typically wrapped around Jisung. He cards his fingers through Jisung's hair, pinches his cheeks at random times and surprises him with back hugs until the younger swats him away. (He leans back into Minho’s chest one time before realizing what he’s done and pulls away.)

It's nice, their friend group. Jisung, Seungmin and Hyunjin hit off pretty well (after the initial awkward phase when Jisung acts like a douchebag), and it turns out that, deep down, Jisung's kind of loud and kind of affectionate. He and Felix are alike in that sense.

And sure, there are times when Jisung withdraws from the group and goes out to smoke (Chan and Changbin never do when the rest of them are around), but Minho’s gotten used to dealing with it. He’d offer Jisung a piece of candy, and he’d press his lips against Jisung’s, giving him his candy after he says yes. Then they’d sit in silence, keeping each other company - the kisses as their little secret. Minho doesn’t mind.

 

 

 

It's a Tuesday morning when Woojin corners him at the lockers and asks about his dad.

"We're not on speaking terms right now. It’s kinda peaceful and chill,” Minho replies, waving off his concerns. Woojin doesn’t look very convinced but doesn’t pry.

“So, you and Jisung? You guys a _thing_ now?” he gushes instead, slinging his arm over his shoulder.

Minho pushes him away. “Stop it. We’re friends, that’s all.”

“Sure,” Woojin says in a deadpan.

“I’m telling the truth!” Woojin gives him another unimpressed look, and Minho sighs. “I don’t know. I like him. I think he likes me too, but I’m not sure.”

“So why don’t you ask him out?”

“I don’t want to risk our friendship if it turns out I’m wrong,” says Minho. “Besides, he’s busy dealing with his own shit. I don’t want to bother him.”

“At least he’s not getting into fights as often,” Woojin remarks. “I’ve always wondered, how did you get him to stop fighting?”

“I asked.”

“You… asked? That’s it?”

Minho carefully closes his locker door, puzzled by Woojin’s sharp gaze. “Well, we talked a little bit about ourselves beforehand and it did take some convincing to do, but yeah, I guess that’s it. His little brother also played a big part as to why he agreed to stop. Why?”

“Nothing. Just… I’m sure Jisung wouldn’t mind if you told him that you liked him. Trust me.” Then the bell rings, and Woojin pats his shoulder farewell and leaves Minho behind, baffled.

 

 

 

“Hey, you do dance, right?” Jisung asks one day, head rested in the crook of Minho’s neck. The others don’t care anymore; it’s a regular occurrence, seeing the two close to each other. Chan and Felix are busy arguing over the newest development of some murder mystery tv show, and Changbin looks close to murdering them for giving spoilers. Hyunjin looks thrilled and hides his laughter behind his hand.

Minho glances down. “Yeah. I dropped out of cram school and mother let me continue.” It took some convincing on her part for his father to concede, albeit begrudgingly.

“Teach me?”

“What?”

“Teach me how to dance. Not fighting’s been taking on toll on me. Believe it or not, I miss the adrenaline rush.” Jisung twists around, placing his leg over Minho’s thigh, chin tilted high in defiance. “You’re the one who told me to stop fighting so you should take responsibility. Teach me, fucker.”

Minho wonders if he can drown in Jisung’s swirling dark eyes. He says yes before he has the time to think about it.

 

 

 

He has club activities after school, so he tells Jisung to head over to his place later in the afternoon, at around four. His father doesn't get off work until late, and his mother had promised that she was going out with friends afterwards. They should have the house to themselves.

He finds Jisung waiting at his doorsteps, scrolling through his phone. Strands of his hair fall over his forehead, a shade of wine purple. That’s new.

“You look good,” he blurts out the second he sees Jisung.

Jisung blinks. He rubs a strand of his hair between his index finger and thumb. “Thanks,” he says slowly, contemplative. Minho tries not to notice and unlocks the door to let him in.

He leads Jisung to their basement. It’s a spacious room with every wall aligned with giant mirrors. There are small, rectangular windows positioned on one side of the room, looking out onto the tulip flower bed situated outside. Minho starts setting up the speakers and plugs in his phone to a portable charger.

"You have a fucking dance studio in your house?" Jisung whistles underneath his breath.

"It's way smaller than the usual but yeah." Minho shrugs. "My father's philosophy has always been, 'if you're going to do something, you should go all out' or some shit like that."

“It’s neat.”

Without preamble, Jisung starts unbuttoning his uniform jacket, throwing it to Minho with a dangerous little smirk. Minho returns the favour, eyebrows raised, slipping his jacket off. Jisung rolls his eyes with a quirk of a smile before making his way over to Minho's phone by the speakers. He already has his thumbprint registered on the phone, easily unlocking the device with a tap and scrolling through Minho's music playlist - a mix of all sorts of genre, specifically hip-hop.

“I thought you wanted me to teach you, not jump right into it?” Minho asks.

"I'm not a complete amateur at dancing. Sure, you can help me improve, but let's have a little fun first?" Jisung bites down on his bottom lip, having chosen a song, and jogs back to the centre of the room, rolling back his shoulders as he waits for the song to start.

Curious, Minho stays back, resting his back against the opposing wall facing Jisung. He nods his head along the beat as Jisung starts warming up, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Then the beat drops and he swivels into motion, his muscles tensing and his body flexing with the rhythm that booms through the speakers. Minho feels his jaw slacken and shakes his head in disbelief. Right. Jisung can dance - he’s proven that at the party that one time, when they had a dance-off. Not as good as Minho, but good enough anyway.

Minho joins him on the second song, blending in with the music, one with the pulse and tempo. His feet are feathery light as they sweep across the floor, creating the occasional squeaking noise when he twirls or slams his foot with the right amount of pressure. His heart is pumping in his ears, and he’s vaguely aware of Jisung stopping to stare, following his every movement. On one particular turn, his eyes meet Jisung’s - half-lidded and impressed - and he nearly trips over his right foot before he manages to recover.

“Show-off,” says Jisung good-naturedly when Minho spins one last time and finishes on the final beat, feet planted firmly on the ground.

Minho smiles, apologetic. A glance at the mirror shows his rosy cheeks under the bright lighting, hair mussed, and a sheen of sweat over his forehead, under his shirt. It’s been a while since he’s danced in front of an audience other than his dance teacher. “Says you. Where’d you learn how to dance like that anyway? You don’t even need me to teach you anything.”

“Used to take dance lessons with my little brother until he wanted to quit.” Jisung rolls up his sleeves and rests a hand on his hip. “And hello? I’m not as good as you. Help me improve, you fucker.”

“Is that really how you ask for help?” Minho replies dryly.

Nonetheless, as another song starts playing, this time more pop and light-hearted, he eases up and stands beside Jisung, giving him pointers once in a while, but otherwise letting him do his thing. There’s one particular move that Jisung insists he can do, although he fails to execute it properly and huffs in impatience.

“Don’t just stand there! Actually, like, help me,” Jisung snaps when Minho dishes out the same suggestion for the fifth time.

Minho reluctantly approaches, explaining the steps one more time, “Like this,” and splay his fingers over Jisung’s back, fingertips skidding across the cotton fabric of his shirt. Jisung follows his instructions, working through the move, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

"Over here," mutters Minho, placing his other hand on Jisung's left shoulder, and Jisung turns, finally completing the move successfully once.

“I did it!” he exclaims, a quick intake of a breath, twisting around and stumbling into Minho’s arms.

Jisung’s smile, glittering white and playful, is a vast contrast compared to the first smile Minho’s seen from him, which was dangerous and frayed at the edge - broken. Minho likes Jisung no matter what, but he can’t help but like the current Jisung so much more. They linger, clammy hands against one another. Jisung smells like sweat and cotton, and a hint of lemon candy.

A familiar tune starts pumping through the speakers and a smile twitches at the corner of his lips. _‘As if it's your last’_ by Blackpink, an iconic song for the summer (it's spring). Jisung mirrors his grin and pushes him away, suddenly not afraid to get loud, rapping lyrics like: _“Call me pretty and nasty”_ and _“I be the Bonnie and you be my Clyde”_ while Minho shyly mimics the dance, swaying his hips.

When Jisung joins in, exaggerated hip movements and all, Minho has to stop himself from doubling over in laughter. He has to give Jisung credit though - he’s surprisingly on point for someone who looks like he has no idea what he’s doing.

“You dance better than some of the girls, school pres,” Jisung comments the moment the song ends, and Minho feels himself flush.

“Do not,” he mumbles, out of breath. He falls down, pressing his back against the cool floor. Jisung lies down beside him.

"It’s true! You got killer hip moves,” Jisung snorts. Out of the corner of his eye, Minho sees him brush the purple bangs out of his forehead.

“Stop it. I really don't,” Minho says, embarrassed.

“No, I’m serious.” Jisung flips over and meets his eyes. A drop of sweat glimmers on top of his eyelashes. “You were sexier than any girl out there. Blackpink even, and they’re, like, queens.”

A pause, breath, blink, then the words suddenly, out of the blue, rush out of Minho’s mouth before he can stop himself.

“I like you.”

Then, silence.

“You don’t have to say it back. Or accept it even. You can ignore this ever happened”

Jisung sits back, his expression indistinguishable.

Belatedly, Minho realises his mistake, but dammit, it’s too late to take it back. He wants to explain, but all he manages to do is breathe out, “I’m sorry.” _-for assuming that you liked me back. The kisses meant nothing to you after all. This was just supposed to be fun banter._

Jisung avoids him for the next three days.

 

 

(He still hangs out with them during lunch, preferring to mess around with Hyunjin, Changbin, or anyone else besides Minho. Of course, their friends notice their recent change of behaviour; the awkwardness hovering over them is palpable. No one confronts Minho about it, although Woojin sends him concerned glances here and then, and all Minho can think of is how he had fucked up.)

 

 

It’s a Thursday. Minho hears the commotion before he sees it. He's climbing up the stairs, a pile of chemistry papers in his hands, out on another errand for his dimwit of a teacher. School's already over, but he has to stay to behind to help with the pep rally. Minho's not sure why he's needed. All he does is present the players, shout out a couple of encouraging words and say a short speech about school spirit at the very end. It's bullshit.

"You think we're scared of you? Fucking weakling," someone snorts. Another voice laughs meanly, "Your brother doesn't care about you. So we can fuck you up, brace face."

Minho winces. Talk about immature. He turns the corner, prepared to give the bullies a telling-off. He's not scared of them; their voices still have a slight pubescent sound to them. Chan and Changbin, even Jisung, are scarier than any first years.

It's a sorry sight. Three teens surround a shorter teen, pushing him around, throwing his books to the ground and taunting him.

"Hey!" Minho calls out, stalking towards them.

The first years take one look at him, a scary third year, and scramble off, yelling apologies behind their backs. If he wanted to, he could yell at them to come back and apologise properly, but judging from the kid's face, he doesn't want another confrontation.

"You okay?" he asks gently, helping the kid pick up his books.

"Yeah. Thanks." The kid gives him a wobbly, fragile smile, his braces on display. Black hair curls over his forehead, a pair of round gold-rimmed glasses sit on the tip of his nose, and his eyes scrunch up cutely. Minho has the urge to pinch the kid's cheeks and protect him from all the bullies in the world.

"No problem. Does this happen often?"

The kid stands back up, clutching the books close to his chest. "You might not believe me, but not really. They've only started picking on me recently after my older brother st..." he trails off, a troubled look on his face. "Nevermind."

His brother?

Realisation dawns on him as he puts the two and two together. The bullies had mentioned the kid's brother too. If his brother is well-known - and Jisung did say he uses his reputation to keep his little brother's bullies at bay - then maybe...

"Is your older brother Han Jisung?"

The kid flushes, hands fluttering up in defence, dropping his books onto the ground again. He rushes to pick them up, and Minho grabs his wrist lightly, stopping him. The kid’s reaction is enough of a confirmation.

"Are you getting bullied again because your brother stopped fighting?"

“Yes. No. Kinda?” the kid panics. “Please don’t tell my brother, though. I told him I’m fine, and I am, most of the time. I don’t want him to start fighting again. He’s happier now, I can tell, and I can’t- I can’t be the one who ruins it for him. _Please_.”

“Woah, kid-”

“Jeongin. My name’s Jeongin.”

Minho pauses. “Jeongin. I’m Minho-”

“Lee Minho, president of the student council, I know,” Jeongin interrupts. Then worries his bottom lip. “You’re friends with Jisung hyung. He doesn’t talk much about you - he won’t tell me _anything_ these days - but I know you’re the reason why hyung’s stopped fighting.”

Minho can feel Jeongin’s heart rate speeding up, beating erratically at his wrist. His breath grows more and more agitated. “If he finds out people are picking on me again, he’d beat them up. If he beats them up, people are gonna hear about it and wanna pick a fight with him. I can’t let that happen. Not again.”

“Jeongin, it’s okay. I promise I won’t tell your brother,” Minho reassures the younger, letting go of his wrist and keeping his voice soft. ( _I can’t tell him anyway, because he’s been avoiding me and it’s all my fault, really.)_ But that’s irrelevant at the moment. He waits until Jeongin calms down before starting. “I still can’t just let you continue getting bullied. Where do you eat during lunch?”

“At the cafeteria.”

“With friends?’

Jeongin looks away. “Alone.”

It’s a shame because Jeongin seems like a nice kid, a bit shy maybe. He heard the bullies call him brace face, which is stupid and incredibly immature. Just because he fits the stereotypical nerd trope - braces, glasses, books in hand - others deem it necessary to bully him? He can't understand it for the life of him.

“Why don’t you eat with us, then? Pretty sure that’d scare off the majority of your bullies, if you’re friends with second and third years. One of them being the school pres,” Minho reasons.

“I can’t. I don’t want to bother Jisung hyung.”

“You could ask him to make sure. Although I’m a hundred percent sure Jisung wouldn’t mind. He loves you a lot, you know?”

Jeongin doesn’t reply and awkwardly shifts on the back of his heels. Minho can tell he doesn’t want to talk about it, that he wants to leave. He feels bad for the kid. “I gotta go, the pep rally is gonna start soon and I’m the one organizing it. Consider the offer, alright?”

“Alright,” Jeongin says without any enthusiasm; he’s not considering it at all.

He turns to go, then pauses. “And Jeongin, you’re wrong. I’m not the reason why Jisung stopped fighting.” Jeongin opens his mouth to protest, but Minho cuts him off. “You are.”

Because he _is_ the reason why Jisung doesn't brawl anymore. Sure, Minho was the one who told Jisung to stop in the first place, but that was for Jeongin’s sake, not Minho. He almost lets out a self-deprecating chuckle, because really? Jisung stopping his fights for him, Lee Minho, the fucking school president? Ridiculous.

 

 

 

School pep rallies are a waste of time, and Minho wants to go home. The rally had started fifteen minutes late because some people were missing (hint: a cheerleader and a rugby player were too busy sucking face in the change rooms and had lost track of time). Teenagers. High school.

Minho rubs his eyes tiredly and shouts a couple practised words of encouragement into the megaphone. It’s been, like, two hours.

“Let’s give it up for our school mascot, Rambo!” he yells while dying on the inside. Rambo, a large mouse, clad in a bright yellow jersey, prances on the field, trying to get the crowd excited. Some rugby jock sticks out his foot, making Rambo fall flat on his face.

Minho sighs. He feels bad for whoever’s in the mouse costume. “It’s okay, Rambo!” he hollers, _still_ dying on the inside. “Go, Rambo, go!”

The sun beats down on his head, a warm breeze sweeps through, and Minho wipes a drop of sweat from his forehead. He smooths out the wrinkles on his white collared shirt, then checks his phone. 10 minutes until his motivational speech. As the school president, this is supposedly a big deal; Minho had prepared for it months beforehand, and one of his teachers had even proofread it for him.

Sometimes, Minho wishes he had never run for school president - not like his father had left him with much of a choice.

He had rehearsed my presentation until he had it down pat, but his cue cards are still in hand if necessary. He keeps the megaphone in one hand, yelling into it when appropriate, while his other hand plays with the corners of his cue cards stashed away in his pocket. _I’d like to thank the entire student body for-_

A hand clutches the back of his shirt. Minho drops the megaphone onto the grass, startled, as he’s yanked down and faces a familiar pair of gold-rimmed glasses. Jeongin.

"This really isn't the best time-" Minho says, well aware of the unwanted attention they're drawing. He stops mid breath. Jeongin looks worse for wear, hair mussed, a bruise on his right cheek, school uniform crumpled. Jeongin has a hard time breathing, and Minho steadies him by the arms. "Hey, you okay?"

Jeongin manages a nod. "Yeah, I'm fine. It's Jisung hyung. They wanted to fight him, take revenge for before- They cornered us- Threatened to beat me up unless he followed them to- My brother- I couldn’t-" he stumbles over his words, but Minho's already figured it out. It sounds like they had blackmailed Jisung into following them somewhere?

He tightens his grip. "Where is he?"

"Back alleyway. Behind the convenience store, a couple of blocks away."

"Got it."

Hina, the vice president of the student council, tries to convince him to stay (“You’re the school president. You can’t just leave. What about your _speech_?” she stresses), but Minho barely has enough time to point to Woojin on the bleachers and tell Jeongin that he can trust him, let alone worry about school president shit. What’s the worse that can happen if he misses the speech? His father gets mad again? So fucking what.

“Wait,” Jeongin calls out on the last second. “You can’t go alone.”

Minho fixes him a small smile. “Tell Woojin to contact the others.”

He hops the fence, ignoring Hina's shouts of frustration, and sprints out of school grounds. His shoes slap against the concrete, skidding to a stop when he reaches the convenience store. He hurries through the bushes at the side of the store, past the dumpster bins and broken bottles of beer. A cold spike of fear jolts through Minho.

He hears the fighting before he turns the corner. There are six boys trying to take down Jisung, and there's three more littering the ground. Another guy crouches behind Jisung, back turned towards Minho. He grabs a broken bottle off the ground and holds it like a knife with its sharp edges facing forward. Minho knocks the fucker down.

They all freeze when they hear the sound of the bottle shattering onto the ground (instead of making its way into Jisung, thank fuck).

“School pres,” Jisung says, turning around. There’s blood dripping down the side of his forehead, trickling down his cheek. His jacket is missing. Red splotches dot all over his white collared shirt.

Minho's going to kill every single one of them, reputation as the school president be darned. He grabs the nearest one by the collar and lands a punch, feeling the crunch under the skin. He smirks. It feels fucking fantastic. He gets several more punches in until one of them rips him away, trying to lock him down by the arms so that another one can beat him up.  His punch stings, of course, and so do the next three he smashes into Minho’s face and the two he digs into his stomach, but then Jisung barrels in and pushes him aside. Minho has a split second to wrestle out of the guy’s grip.

"Thanks," he says when he’s free, back pressed against Jisung.

"No problem. No one's allowed to punch you except for me."

Before Minho has the time to register that sentence, they're back into the fight. There's blood everywhere. He usually wouldn't condone this violent shit, but the fact that one of the guys would have _stabbed_ Jisung with a fucking beer bottle is enough to keep him going. Or maybe he's just running on the adrenaline.

Minho’s never been in a fight before. It’s kind of addicting.

One particularly big guy socks him in the jaw, then when he’s down, kicks him in the ribs. Minho grunts in pain. God, it hurts. There’s a second kick and a third before he manages to roll to the side and stand back up. He wipes the blood off his lips.

The guy suddenly blanches. “Wait, never mind, sorry.”

“What are you talking about?” Minho snarls.

The guy bolts. Or at least, attempts to run until there’s a familiar flash of black and silver rushing in. Chan and Changbin. When they finish, they're the last ones standing. Chan smiles at Minho, eyebrows raised in concern.

“Woojin texted us. We got here as soon as possible. You okay?”

“I guess.” Minho shrugs, and winces slightly. Not okay. Thankfully, they don’t seem to notice.

Changbin wipes the blood off his hands, lips curled in disdain as he takes in the scene. There are ten bodies on the ground, although a few are already limping away. “So many of them? Fucking cowards.”

“Does the manager at the convenience store not know about this?” Woojin asks. He stands further away, eyeing a broken bottle with a frown on his face. Minho sees Hyunjin, Seungmin and Felix lingering nearby. There’s Jeongin too, and Minho doesn't fail to notice how the others form a semi-circle around the youngest, as if they're protecting him.

It’s kind of heartwarming that they had all showed up.

Chan says, “Probably don’t care. All sorts of people hang out here all the time.”

Their voices fade into a quiet buzz in the background when Minho spots Jisung standing a few metres away. He staggers forward, bleeding, panting, and cups his hands on either side of Minho's face. Minho supports him by the shoulders. They stumble together, synchronised, back and forth until Jisung's legs give out, bringing Minho down with him.

"You're such a nosy bastard," says Jisung. "Running here like a _fucking idiot_."

He sways forward, as if his head has grown heavy. Minho lets him rest his forehead against him, vaguely aware of the blood sticking to his skin and the sweat sliding down his neck.

"I'm a fucking idiot who's in love with you." He lets out a heavy sigh. Might as well say it all and get it over with, instead of letting it build up inside like he's been planning to do.

Jisung hardly twitches. "We're in high school."

"So?"

"So, what do you know about love, anyway?"

"Fine,” Minho concedes. It’s true; they’re still in their fucking teenage years. “I take that back. I really, really, really like you."

"If you really liked me, then what are you waiting for? Fucking kiss me," Jisung growls.

Minho coughs in disbelief. "You avoided me all week after I said I liked you. Now I confess again and you want me to kiss you? I’m getting mixed signals here.”

At least Jisung has the sense to look guilty. "I didn't know what to do, okay? Like, I was kinda aware of my feelings - plus our kisses weren't exactly platonic - but it didn’t really _hit_ me until you said it out loud.”

He inhales shakily before continuing. “You're the school president and I'm a no-good delinquent. You bring me up, but all I do is bring you down. I know I’m not good for you, but I can’t help but want you. And fuck, shouldn't you be at the pep rally right now?"

"No one cares about the pep rally,” Minho dismisses quickly. “And that's not true. Jisung, look at me.” He carefully swipes his thumb over Jisung’s cheek, along the edges of a flowering bruise, until the younger meets his eyes. “Because of you, I've been to my first party, stood up against my father, quit stupid cram school and started dance again. This is the freest I've ever been, and that's because of _you_. You don't bring me down. You fucking free me.”

“But the fight…”

“Wasn’t your fault. They threatened to beat Jeongin to a pulp if you didn’t follow them back here, right? And for what reason? Revenge? Bullshit.” He had recognised some of them from the fight that had happened, it seems, ages ago in the park. It’s a petty reason for revenge. “So unless you’re _voluntarily_ planning to get into any more fights, which you’re _not_ , then we’re good.”

He lets the message sink in, waiting.

“Minho.”

“You’re never gonna call me hyung, are you?”

“Never.” Jisung gives him a cheeky grin, and Minho can’t help but smile back fondly.

“What, Jisung?”

“Can I kiss you?” he says, all bravado, although his voice wavers.

Minho pulls away, raising an eyebrow. “You didn’t bother asking before.” Faintly, he can hear a muffled gasp in the background, but he ignores it. It doesn’t matter.

“Without the candy, though.” Jisung juts out his lower lip. It’s still a little bloody, chapped and red. “We’ve never kissed without candy.”

“Does this mean you like me back now?” Minho asks, bemused. That was strangely… easy.

“No.”

His heart stops. “What.”

Jisung smirks. “I really, really, really, _really_ like you, even though you’re an annoying idiot. And I still want to kiss you. Can I?”

Minho surges forward, answering with his lips on Jisung’s. It’s like the first time they kissed; there's a slight taste of blood, but it's sweet even without the piece of candy. Jisung’s lips are soft, although he aggressively pushes forward, their tongues, warm and slick, against each other. Minho hums happily, then pulls back, preferring to nip at Jisung's lower lip.

“ _Okay._ I am officially grossed out.” That sounds like Felix’s voice, at an unnaturally higher pitch than usual. Minho groans.

With much effort, he breaks the kiss and glares at the people he calls his friends. And Jeongin. Not that Jeongin isn’t his friend, but he’s also Jisung’s little brother, whom he was just sucking face with a second ago. Minho visibly pales at the thought. Oh no.

“I mean, this is cute and all, but Minho hyung looks super duper pale while Jisung looks like he’s gonna drop dead any second now,” Seungmin sneers. He’s holding a broken bottle of beer over his shoulder, as if he’s ready to defend himself just in case. Minho’s going to have to remember to scold him for the irresponsible behaviour later. (Like he’s the one to talk.)

“He’s right, though. You guys should really go visit the school nurse,” Woojin advises.

It’s the last thing Minho hears before he blacks out. (The last thing he _sees_ is Jisung’s smile, bared and honest, and he can’t help but mirror it. Everything’s going to be good, fine, fucking fantastic.)

 

 

 

Over the course of the next couple of days, Minho does everything in his power to suspend the assaulters. He also gets the punk-ass bitch who was going to stab Jisung expelled. Really, being a school president has its benefits, even though he does get detention for skipping his speech. His father’s disappointment is palpable when he gets home, but Minho doesn’t care - not anymore. He still has his mother, and soon, he’d be able to graduate and move out.

Now, whenever he sees Jisung, he stops him in the middle of the crowded hallway and kisses him right on the lips. To say the student body is still in shock is putting it mildly.

But they don’t give a flying fuck about what anyone else thinks or has to say, since no one really dares to mess with them anyway. Jeongin fits into their friend group like the last piece of the puzzle, and the nine of them form a motherfucking team.

Fuck with any one of them, and they’d fuck you up just as badly.

 

 

//

 

 

[ minho : hey remember the time, like three months ago, when i said that i rly rly rly liked you? ]

[ jisung : sure ]

[ minho : well i take that back. I’m in fucking love with you and i don’t care if we’re stupid teens in love or whatever. I really do trust and care and support and love you. Did i mention that i love you? ]

[ jisung : fuck minho. Way to get sappy on me ]

[ jisung : why aren’t u telling this to me in person? ]

[ minho : maybe i’m embarrassed lmao. You were the one who said we’re only high school students and what do we know about love yada yada. which is questionable btw. I like to think love knows no age! ]

[ minho : plus i finally got jeongin’s blessing now (thank god) so it’s all good ]

[ jisung : … is your dad home? ]

[ minho : what no. why? ]

[ jisung : i’m outside your house. Get the fuck over here so that i can tell you something ]

[ minho : tell me what? ]

[ jisung : nothing, only that- ]

 

It’s summer now. Minho hurries down the stairs and bursts out of his house, warm heat blasting into his face. He shields his eyes from the sun’s glare. Jisung has his phone in one hand, his blue penny board in the other, and when he sees Minho, his eyes scrunch into crescents, cheeks glowing. He’s dyed his hair back to black. His lips are pink, not red, slightly dry but otherwise untouched. No cuts, no bruises, no raw knuckles, and no broken smiles.

“Yeah?” Minho says, after he brushes his lips against Jisung’s, because they’re boyfriends and that’s normal. Although his heart still thumps and ignites with a spark every time they kiss, no matter how fleeting. “God, I really do love you.”

Jisung’s laughter is loud and kind of raspy. He punches Minho’s shoulder lightly. “I love you too, idiot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone who has stuck around for this fic. you guys are seriously the best, and all your sweet comments really helped motivate me when i just wanted to drop this. 
> 
> hope the ending isn't disappointing, and as always, comments are much appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> scream about stray kids with me on [tumblr](https://straykidzz.tumblr.com) ♡


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